1651Promo-PG Excerpt Someone to Share the Sunsets (Civil War short story)

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Kathy Otten

Aug 1, 2009

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Here is a funny excerpt from this quick read.

Blurb: On her way to Texas at the close of the Civil War, Allison Nordstrom stops at a farm to return to his only surviving brother, the personal effects of a prisoner she once nursed. But instead of a warm welcome, she is met by a drunken, embittered man with a loaded gun.

Excerpt:

Bang! Allison Nordstrom shrieked as a chunk of dirt splattered into a cloud of red dust a few inches to the left of her right foot. She dove for the cover of the nearest bush, dropping her small satchel at the edge of the drive. Cautiously, she lifted her head and peered through the scraggly branches toward the porch of the farm house from which the shot originated.

She could see him, sitting on the top step, Colt revolver in hand, a half-empty bottle of whiskey beside his left hip. Dark brown hair hung nearly to his shoulders. He hadn’t shaved in days and wore the tattered gray pants of a confederate cavalry uniform.

The white railing which had once charmed the front porch was gone. Only a few jagged spindles remained to jut from the weathered floorboards like stalagmites in a cave.

When she’d asked directions in Mayville, people warned her not to come. Jackson Cameron was out of his head, mad as a hatter, gone off the deep end. Funny, Allie thought, he hadn’t seemed so in his letters.

Bravely, she called out. "Mr. Cameron? You’re making a mistake. My name is Mrs. Robert Nord...."

Bang

! A bullet grazed the side of an oak tree, raining bits of bark down on Allie’s little bush. She dropped to her knees. For goodness sake, she hadn’t hidden behind the shrubbery like this since she was six years old.

"No mistake!" His voice was deep, his words slightly slurred. Allie shivered. It would have been nice if someone had told her he was a drunkard as well.

"No carpetbaggers allowed! Now get the hell outta here!" For emphasis he fired again.

"But Mr. Cameron, I am not a carpetbagger! "

"You’re a Yankee!"

Allie wondered what she had been thinking when she decided to make this quick trip. She drew a deep breath

and shouted. "I never would have come if your brother had told me how disagreeable you were!"

There was a long pause. Jackson Cameron grew so still Allie cautiously inched higher. The barrel of his revolver pointed down. He stared at her through the branches of her hiding place.

"You knew Beau?" His drawl had lost its harsh edge. A wistful quality now resonated in the deep Southern tones.

She rose and stepped from behind the bush. She took a moment to tuck a few wisps of blonde hair back under her bonnet and to shake out the front of her dark green skirt. It was a good thing she decided not to wear a crinoline while traveling. Hoops and whalebone would not have worked well for diving into the brush.

"I was a nurse at Chesapeake Hospital near Fort Monroe. I took care of Beau before he died."

For several long, unnerving seconds he stared at her. "You’re the one who sent me the letter."

"Yes. I’m Allison Nordstrom."

He stood and slid his pistol into its leather holster. With a wave of his right arm, he gestured her forward. "Well, come-on up. I don’t bite."